


Crescendo

by Destina



Series: Desolation [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-08
Updated: 1999-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan learns to share his pain in order to confront it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1999. Posted to AO3 in 2015.

_...running endlessly, frozen solid with the cold decimation of fear, the movement of air through his tortured lungs a searing misery - no time to whisper his broken needing, his failures, no voice to apologize for the things left thrown aside carelessly, the incautious baggage of a youth who expected too much, and lived as though there would be endless second chances...this was his penance for failing, and he was destroyed..._

Obi-Wan snapped out of his dream with a jarring, sickening jolt. Sweat clung to every part of his body, drenching him, a disgusting reminder of his nightmare. His chest heaved with repressed panic as he sucked in air through his teeth, trying to stifle the outward sounds of his distress. Hastily, he clamped down tightly on wildly storming emotions, the sweeping waves of loathing and grief pulling taut within his mind, shrinking to a tiny flash, then disappearing into his control. His eyes immediately went to his Master, on the sleeping couch near his own. Rigid with anxiety, he listened for long moments, hoping he had stilled his thoughts quickly enough to avoid disturbing the older man.

Qui-Gon's shoulders moved slightly with his even, calm breathing. As he fixed his eyes on the reassuring movement of his Master's back, Obi-Wan felt his own breathing level out and become quiet. An occasional hitching noise escaped from his throat, something like a muffled sob, but he snatched back those sounds and battered them into silence. Finally, after several minutes, he felt capable of movement. He immediately drew back into the corner of his bed, pressed himself against the wall, and cowered there, arms wrapped around the legs he'd drawn up tightly against his body.

Sleeping was a torment to him now. He'd spent two precious platonic nights in his Master's arms, comforted by Qui-Gon's loving presence, before the specters of pain had begun to penetrate him once again, sighing their persuasive evil into his unconscious mind. Ever vigilant, the Jedi healers had spoken to Qui-Gon privately, and Obi-Wan found himself back in his own bed before he could protest. In his most secret heart, he was glad of it. He did not want Qui-Gon to know how deeply, how horribly he was scarred by what had taken place on Echuro, and how truly he despaired of ever ridding himself of this vast weakness -- his failure to be what his Master expected of him -- which plagued him every night.

In daylight, Obi-Wan spoke words tinged with bravado. He was becoming almost desperate to resume some sort of intimacy with Qui-Gon. Too much time had passed, too many events in motion, between those brief weeks of passion they'd shared, and this melancholy point in his existence. His Master had switched into a mode of instruction Obi-Wan remembered well from his earliest training; discussion, repetition of the Code, questions posed which had no right answer, but were meant only to provoke contemplation and response. Obi-Wan's memory sent him back to the afternoon of the day just left behind...

****************  
"Tell me, Padawan, what must a Jedi do if the commission of an evil act by another is unavoidable?"

The answer was something even a fledgling Jedi knew by heart. Obi-Wan recited by rote. "A Jedi cannot allow evil to occur by inaction. A Jedi who voluntarily stands by and allows evil to be committed is encouraging the forces of darkness."

Qui-Gon's eyes bored into him. "And which is the greater of two evils: to allow one's self to be corrupted, or to allow another to be swayed by the Dark Side?"

Obi-Wan was silent a moment. The answer should have been easy, but he wracked his brain to answer the question. What was Qui-Gon really asking him? Seconds ticked by, lengthening painfully into minutes, and Obi-Wan felt his Master's pensive, probing gaze on him. He could not think of a way to answer the question. It was as if his mind had become a blank slate, one he did not possess enough knowledge to fill. His cheeks burned with embarrassed fire.

Abruptly, Qui-Gon stood. "Enough for today, Padawan. Let's walk a bit before dinner." He reached out an arm, draping it about Obi-Wan's shoulders as his apprentice rose from the low bench in the courtyard of the Jedi Temple.

Obi-Wan reached out to experience his Master's emotions; the tentative touch was returned with affection and delight with Obi-Wan's company. Obi-Wan was somewhat amazed, and puzzled. There was no sense of a task left incomplete. He was used to the resigned, somewhat frustrated signature of his Master's thoughts after a bout with Code and philosophy went badly. This time, he sensed only acceptance and happiness.

"Master?" Obi-Wan felt the need to speak his doubts.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon continued his leisurely walk toward the large Temple dining hall, stopping only when Obi-Wan's shoulders tensed and he turned toward his teacher.

"I haven't been concentrating as I should on my lessons, and I -"

"The lessons themselves are not important, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's tenderly chosen words sent a shock of wonder through the younger man. Regardless of his expectations, his Master was a constant source of surprise to him. "Only the dialogue is important. You must become accustomed again to the routine of learning, of your mind expanding to take on new possibilities. When you are ready, there will be progress. Do not trouble yourself over it." Qui-Gon stopped, and turned to face Obi-Wan, his other hand coming to rest on the vacant shoulder. "I am pleased simply to have you here, whole and well, Padawan."

With those words, Obi-Wan knew his Master's unhesitating devotion, his patience, his willingness to wait for his Padawan to regain the ground he'd lost. Obi-Wan saw his Master's eyes close, knowing that mental obstructions had been lowered. He received an impression of sweeping, gracious warmth, and he felt his Master's emotions: surging love, stained with an infinite sadness; a worry and concern so intimate that Obi-Wan was left breathless. His Master reached out with two gentle fingers, stroking Obi-Wan's cheek lightly, a touch which conveyed, with the briefest of sensations, endless wishes left unspoken.

The power of it staggered Obi-Wan. He leaned forward and found himself stayed by his Master's strong arms. He stood there, basking in the joyous warmth of those feelings, until Qui-Gon withdrew the overwhelming flow of passion, one piece at a time. Obi-Wan sensed his Master's regret, and he straightened to his full height, looking up into the deep blue eyes.

Without speaking, they turned back toward the dining hall, Qui-Gon's arm still resting across the top of his Padawan's shoulders, a brace and anchor against what was still to come.

************************  
"Faster," Qui-Gon said calmly. "And this time, don't pull back. I want to feel the full strength of your blows."

Obi-Wan nodded and swung his saber to the ready, tensing as he watched his Master's body language, attempting to predict when Qui-Gon would strike.

Qui-Gon stood relaxed with his hands at his sides, watching his apprentice's eyes dart from Qui-Gon's face, to his hands, to his legs, and back again. Inwardly, the teacher sighed. The key to an opponent's weakness could be seen in the eyes and felt in the Force. Obi-Wan knew better; it was a lesson hard learned by any student of the Temple before they reached young adulthood. His apprentice was years past such simple concepts, and yet he was having trouble remembering even the most basic aspects of his training. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, hoping to feel it flowing through and around his Padawan. It was not. The small, brittle ripples of the Force Obi-Wan was attempting to command were strangely stunted, out of tune with his body's physical song, and the overall effect was disturbing.

With a deliberate bid to completely conceal his intent, Qui-Gon suddenly lifted himself in the air and somersaulted over Obi-Wan's head, a move the younger man might normally have favored in battle. It was not Qui-Gon's style, and for this reason, he expected to take Obi-Wan off guard. It worked. His lightsaber, set on extremely low power, flared into dangerous brilliance a full half second before Obi-Wan could turn to block the strike. Qui-Gon slashed down with the saber, cutting through Obi-Wan's tunic and inflicting a stinging wound.

Obi-Wan made no sound of pain, but his lips tightened, and his fighting stance improved immediately as he whirled to face his teacher. He blocked a lightning-quick succession of slicing blows, but his timing was off, his feet always just a fraction behind where full perception would have placed them.

Qui-Gon noted all these factors -- Obi-Wan's quickly increasing fatigue, the way his legs seemed awkward beneath him, how his timing was off, how the fight seemed to take every spare scrap of energy he possessed.

He pressed the attack even harder.

Obi-Wan was driven back, parrying as fast as he could, but not utilizing the Force to assist him. Qui-Gon feinted and scored another burn, this time down the side of Obi-Wan's arm, neatly shredding the cloth above. Then he pulled back slightly, giving Obi-Wan the chance to press the offensive.

Obi-Wan dealt a few swift blows, the impact of them far less than Qui-Gon was used to from his Padawan, but considerably better than their first practice duel. Qui-Gon saw the look of concentration on his student's face and began using the defensive moves of a Jedi Master, calling all his training to bear. A quick cut here, a shallow scorch there, and Obi-Wan was quickly overwhelmed, struggling to keep his feet and not fall flat on his back, defenseless beneath the onslaught. What had been a hesitant offense turned into a desperate defense.

As suddenly as it began, Qui-Gon ended it, deactivating his lightsaber and stepping away. Obi-Wan froze for a moment, before his muscles turned to water and flowed out from underneath him like melting snow. He sank to the floor on his knees and was immediately enfolded in his Master's arms, the prickle of the older man's beard rasping across his cheek as he spoke softly in Obi-Wan's ear. "Do not fight your fatigue, Padawan. Embrace it. Let it cleanse you."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall to Qui-Gon's shoulder, heavier than stone. "Why did you attack me with all your strength?" he asked faintly.

"To show you your own strength," his Master said. "You can withstand all that is thrown against you, Obi-Wan, if you will but learn to bend, to accept your weakness as a part of you, not something which must be drawn out and discarded." Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan's weight off of him and sat on the floor, facing his apprentice. He regarded the young man with a thoughtful look. "You have endeavored for some time now to right this wrong within you. That is work enough. You must stop feeling responsible for my pride."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, astonished. He began to understand that he had not fooled his Master; Qui-Gon had simply chosen not to speak of Obi-Wan's most private battles. Instead, he had allowed Obi-Wan the freedom to grapple with his problems as he saw fit - a mark of his Master's respect for his abilities, and his recognition of Obi-Wan's equality.

Obi-Wan had been seen through, discovered, practically from the first confident statement he'd made after his healing. And protected, right from the start, until his Master felt he was ready to face the fears which besieged him.

"You are strangling your heart by maintaining such rigid control of your thoughts and feelings, my Padawan." Qui-Gon reproached him without judgment, in the most compassionate tones. "You do not disappoint me, Obi-Wan, and least of all for falling victim to my mistakes," his Master added, every word a weight lifted from Obi-Wan's chest. "When you are ready, you will find that you are able to eliminate the memories of your ordeal."

Obi-Wan bowed his head for a moment, overcome by gratitude toward his Master. The elaborate maze of perception which was haunting him faded for that moment, allowing him to peek into Qui-Gon's mind, reveling in the disciplined order of his Master's thoughts. His Master patiently permitted the exploration.

Satisfied that his apprentice had understood the lesson, Qui Gon raised himself onto his knees and initiated a light healing trance, touching his long, skilled fingers to the wounds he had inflicted on his Padawan's body. The burns were not serious, and were quickly reduced to fading white streaks which would heal completely within hours.

As Qui-Gon's hands moved in fluid, sensuous patterns across his torso, Obi-Wan felt his breath catch and fought to control his response. The pleasurable touch deepened, as the fingers splayed across the wounds, and Obi-Wan raised his head, opening his sea-green-blue eyes into the enfolding, unfathomable blue of his Master's gaze. There was no mistake; his Master desired him, and in those eyes Obi-Wan saw the destiny he had feared to face. The moment caught and held, suspending them above the future they might share, if Obi-Wan dared.

"Master," he whispered, overwhelmed.

"Soon enough, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answered, his voice deep with longing, answering the wish for freedom in Obi-Wan's plea. "Soon enough."


End file.
